


A Prince in Gold

by Graveyard



Series: The Order of Dragon Riders [1]
Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Almost Kiss, Animal Companions, Arguing, Awkward Conversations, Bad Jokes, Childhood Friends, Class Issues, Crushes, Crying, Cute Kids, Denial of Feelings, Dragon Riders, Emotionally Repressed, Family Feels, Jealousy, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Minor Injuries, Protective Siblings, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-10-02 01:12:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17254829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graveyard/pseuds/Graveyard
Summary: Five years ago a gold dragon appeared before Aglovale and cemented him as the rightful heir of the House of Wales. Now as Hatching Day rapidly approaches once more, it's Percival's turn to be chosen by a dragon. But is his heart worth its weight in gold?





	1. Dreams of Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is the beginning of my very long Secret Santa gift for fadeslikewhispers! Because I had so much fun writing it and the length got away from me, I'm going to be breaking it into several chapters and posting it piece by piece. It's like the gift that keeps on giving!
> 
> The story itself takes place in a Dragon Rider AU, set in Wales instead of Feendrache. There's going to be several surprises along the way, so settle in, grab some snacks, and enjoy the ride! Happy New Year!

“There’s a gold dragon! A gold dragon has appeared in the hatching grounds!”

Percival--being at the disagreeable age of 13--couldn’t help but smirk quietly to himself when he heard the news being whispered in the halls of his home. A full five years had passed since the last appearance of a gold dragon, when Aglovale had stepped into the hatching grounds and a young gold had alighted gently on his outstretched arm. It seemed inevitable that one would appear now that Percival was of dragon-tending age, as it had for his elder brother, and as it had for his mother and father before them.

Though his curiosity was piqued Percival chose to ignore the whispered words, instead strolling unhurried to the castle courtyard to attend to his daily tasks as a dragon squire. Even as the pride of his kin swelled in his chest and made his steps buoyant, he was forced to maintain a facade of being above it all for the sake of those lesser than him. Such was his duty as the youngest son of the House of Wales.

Percival’s royal pride, however, was sorely tested when he came upon the castle courtyard. A simple but efficient space, the courtyard consisted of a matching pair of grassy lawns, each lined on one edge with trimmed hedges and a pair of fruit-bearing trees, with a cobblestone walkway separating them. On a normal day, the squires would line up along the path and wait for one of the dragon riders to give them their daily tasks. Today, however, there was no such order to be found. Already the other dragon squires were milling about the grounds in disarray, complaining loudly amongst themselves about some matter or another.

A frown lit upon Percival’s features as he made his way to the path, the other squires parting before him like the Red Sea. What he found gave him pause as he struggled to school his expression. For there along the walkway, laid out in two neat rows, were lines of soap water-filled buckets and scale-scrubbing brushes.

_ Another test in humility perhaps, _ Percival thought,  _ sent down by Aglovale or one of the other dragon riders no doubt. It seems like the kind of thing he’d do. _ Already the other squires were grumbling and fetching their buckets, a telltale trail of water and soap suds leading toward the dragon stables where the noble steeds of the skies awaited. There was little Percival could do but to wrap his pride up neatly inside of him, steel his mind on the task ahead, and try not to slosh too much water on his clothes as he followed.

His spirits, at least, could not be dampened, even as he plunged both arms into the soapy water and moved to the side of a particularly ornery red dragon. The stables were large--naturally, considering the size of the beasts they housed--and divided into several wings. While most of the squires had drifted toward the sweet-natured green dragons or the noble but impassive blues, Percival was all alone in the temperamental red dragon stable. Even as the moody reds snorted and thrashed their tails at him, Percival appreciated the moment of solitude. It gave him the chance to think.

Though in the end solitude wasn’t the most apt description. For he had not worked even one minute before a familiar figure joined him, fitting neatly by his side. Percival had expected as much, and made a show of ignoring his new shadow and focusing on his work even as his heart betrayed him with each thunderous beat.

_ Lancelot. _

“There there,” the sweet-voiced squire spoke, soothing the red dragon with a brisk pat down frilled neck scales. A quick sideways glance told Percival that Lancelot was as effortlessly graceful as always, his hair caught up in a ponytail to keep it free from his work, with a few dark waves escaping to tumble in attractive disarray down pale skin. “Do you feel neglected because it’s not your rider washing you today? I know we’re no replacement, but we’ll still work as hard as we can.”

“Then work, Lancelot,” Percival snorted, tossing a scrubbing brush sideways at him. Lancelot danced backwards and caught it easily out of the air with a flick of his wrist, holding it up with some surprise.

“You want me to use both?” Lancelot asked, voice light with teasing. Percival’s heart stuttered as Lancelot gave the brushes an experimental twirl in each hand. “I think...yes, I think I can do that. Watch me, Percival.”

As much as Percival loved to watch--as Lancelot made a dance of the mundane task and the dragon’s tail went from thrashing to swishing in contentment--he felt a fool staring at the boy with his hands idle by his sides. He needed something to busy himself with, lest Aglovale launch a surprise inspection or the other squires notice his lack of involvement. But even more than that, he needed somewhere else to put his eyes. He could already feel the heat rising to his ears, and he didn’t need the blood to reach his face.

The tack room seemed the safest place, so Percival retreated to it swiftly with the excuse of needing clippers for the dragons’ claws. His thoughts, however, did not come with him, still lingering on the boy who had so easily charmed the foul-tempered reds. This was Lancelot’s gift, Percival decided, even more so than twirling twin brushes like swords. He never got angry, never raised his voice, and made people feel ashamed to do so in front of him. He had the perfect aura of calm, and even Percival’s fluctuating teenage moods were soothed by him.

He was fond of him, yes. Percival could at least admit that much.

Percival tried not to let his emotions reach his face when he returned and found Lancelot gazing in awe at the shine of red scales beneath his hands. The scrubbing brushes had gone to rest in the bucket as Lancelot instead worked a drying cloth over the dripping scales, murmuring softly in approval.

“How beautiful. You’re like a jewel in the sky.”

Percival felt a strange pang of jealousy at that, and he tossed his head to let his strawberry hair flip over his shoulder and cascade down the back of his neck.

“Hmph! It’s just a red dragon. Nothing really compared to a gold. You won’t make much of a dragon rider if you can’t even keep your composure in front of common earth dragons.” He knew as soon as he said the words that he shouldn’t have, but in response Lancelot merely turned his gaze brightly toward Percival. His silvery blue eyes shone against a tumble of black hair that had fallen into his face, and it was all Percival could do not to stare himself.

“Sorry, you’re right. I suppose it’s still so new to me. I’ve only been training under Sir Siegfried for a year now and I still have a lot to learn. You’re quite impressive, Percival.”

“It’s nothing,” Percival snorted, hastily looking away as a blush crept up his ears. “I’ve been around dragons my whole life, so of course I’m used to it. I’m just telling you that you need to get used to it too, because as soon as Hatching Day comes it’ll be our turn to become riders. I don’t want you falling out of the sky because you’re too thunderstruck to pay attention to where you’re going.”

“Of course,” Lancelot sighed. “I know I need to work a lot harder. But thank you for worrying about me. You’re as kind as they say.”

_ Kind? _ Percival nearly dropped the claw clippers he carried as he flustered over the word, and he busied himself checking the safety to hide how he blundered.  _ When has anyone ever called me kind? How impudent!  _ With a shake of his head he moved to retrieve his bucket and brush, extracting them from where they had tangled with Lancelot’s. He tossed a glance back at Lancelot over his shoulder as he went, drawing himself up to his new growth-spurt-induced height.

“Hmph! Here’s some kindness for you: since you’re so easily starstruck by earth dragons I’ll tend to the gold dragons myself! Commoners shouldn’t touch mother and father’s dragons anyway!”

“Percival, wait! I can help!” As Percival began to leave he heard the frantic sounds of tools being gathered, bucket water sloshing, and then hasty footsteps to match his own. Percival purposefully kept his gaze dead ahead to hide the pleased smile that crossed his face. If there was one thing he could count on, it was that Lancelot would follow him wherever he went. He’d make an excellent vassal someday.

And even Percival couldn’t deny the way his heart leapt at the prospect.

“If you must follow me, you can at least attend to Gottfried,” he said instead as they crossed the threshold between red and gold. In many stables the dragons of green, red, and blue were kept separately from the others. Though they could soar the skies like all dragons, they’d obtained the somewhat disparaging nickname ‘earth dragons’ due to the fact that they were as common as dirt and in many places considered a pest that would snatch livestock away. However in House Wales all wings lead back to the royal dragons, many rays around a shining sun. Common dragon and servant alike had their place in serving the golds, and Percival half expected to see that some of the other squires had wandered to this part of the stables already. But the chamber of the golds was quiet, filled only with streams of sunlight from the high windows, the rumbling sighs of half-asleep dragons, and the outdoorsy scent of fresh hay.

“Do you not get along with Gottfried?” Lancelot asked, loathe to disturb the peace of the stable as he placed his bucket tentatively by Aglovale’s steed. Despite Percival not truly believing his claim of Lancelot being starstruck, he  _ did  _ look a little nervous next to the massive golds. It was no wonder: one careless roll in a dragon’s sleep and the two of them would be crushed into a fine flour.

“We get along just fine,” Percival said slowly, “but I see Gottfried every day. I don’t need him to come to expect special treatment from me like some common servant.”

“Ahh, you don’t want look bad in front of your brother. I see.”

“It’s not--” Percival stopped before he could give himself away, biting lightly on the tip of his tongue. He remained silent as he unpacked his tools and moved to the side of his mother’s dragon, considering his next words carefully.

“No, I think we have this backwards. It’s not that I don’t want to bathe Gottfried, but rather that I  _ do  _ want to attend to my parents’ dragons.” Percival nodded in satisfaction. That was a very mature way of putting it. “Mother and father don’t ride much these days save for ceremonies, and their dragons only go outside when the servants take them for their daily exercise. I want to show them that someone still cares. What? Are you laughing at me?” Percival shot a sour look at Lancelot, who was hiding his mouth behind one hand and making stifled snuffling sounds. Lancelot waved his other hand in apology, but it still took a moment before he could safely lift his hand away.

“I’m not--hah--I’m not laughing. It’s just that you keep acting like you’re not kind, and yet here you are talking about showing the dragons that you still care. I wonder what it’s like to have to pretend so hard that you don’t have redeeming qualities.” Lancelot’s eyes twinkled prettily with mischief, and that was all that saved him from getting a scrubbing brush to the face.

“Hmph! And I wonder what it’s like to get to work in silence for a change! Wouldn’t that be nice!”

Despite the lingering laughter in his eyes, Lancelot took his cue and got to work. A pleasant quiet descended on the place as Percival requested, and it  _ was  _ nice--not because he could forget that Lancelot was there, but because he  _ couldn’t  _ forget. Beneath the rumbling of happy dragons Percival could hear the quiet sounds of Lancelot’s hands at work, and the occasional pleased hum as he regarded his efforts with satisfaction.

Despite the crudeness of the task, Percival felt he could have worked all day with those sounds at his back. The stable was peaceful in the mid-morning sun, and the good-natured dragons rolled languidly to allow the boys to scratch the soft scales of their bellies. But all too soon the chime of a bell tower broke through their revelry, and the two boys exchanged nervous looks. Still covered in suds and with claws half-trimmed, the gold dragons were content, but looking far from presentable.

“It’s almost time for one-on-one training,” Lancelot said slowly, “but we still haven’t finished our current task. Is this another test? Do they want us to choose our riding lessons over our chores? Or do they want us to finish what we’ve started before moving on to the next task? Which could it be...”

“You’re overthinking it,” Percival huffed, tossing his scrubbing brush back into the bucket with a soft splash. “It’s as simple as this: Aglovale will have my head if I keep him waiting, so I’ll have to finish this job after I take care of his lesson. We still have half an hour, so let’s use this time to dry the dragons and put our buckets away.”

“As always,” Lancelot sighed--and perhaps it was Percival’s pride speaking, but it seemed like a sound of admiration-- “you know exactly what we should do. I need to learn to follow your example.”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t already work that out,” Percival countered, fighting down the fluttering feeling in his chest, “you just like to hear me say it.” But perhaps Lancelot was just indulging him, because he liked to hear himself say it too. “Come on. If Gottfried isn’t dry in time then Aglovale will be annoyed at me. I’ll help you finish.” And working together, the gold dragons suddenly didn’t seem like such a monumental task.

When Aglovale arrived Percival was already waiting outside the stable with Gottfried, a full ten minutes early thanks to Lancelot’s quick work. He was in high spirits after working with Lancelot all morning, though the mood seemed somehow too private to share. To keep his feelings safe from Aglovale’s sharp eyes, Percival schooled his face to remain as impassive as ever. Even Aglovale’s brief nod of acknowledgement did not tug a smile from his lips as it once would have.

“Timeliness is a virtue,” Aglovale commended as he took the reins from Percival and started to lead them away. “It’s good to see you’ve learned that lesson, little brother.”

“I still have time to fetch his saddle if we need it,” Percival said quickly, but this time Aglovale’s appraising glance was far less warm.

“Patience is also a virtue. You should be self-aware enough to know that you’re not ready to ride a real dragon just yet.” Aglovale turned away, and Percival was disappointed to see him leading them down a familiar path lined with white-flowered bushes. They were theoretically strawberry bushes, though as was often the case the red berries were absent. “We’ll be practicing with the wyverns as usual. If you fall off then at least you won’t be seriously hurt.”

It was incredible how time away from Lancelot so quickly cooled the good mood he had instilled in Percival, or perhaps that was Aglovale’s own frosty atmosphere.

“And when exactly did I last fall off?” Percival asked hotly, and Aglovale turned to him with one golden eyebrow poised loftily on his brow.

“I seem to remember you skinning both hands and wailing about it for nearly an hour. Father nearly forbade you from riding ever again after that commotion, or have you already forgotten?” Aglovale sighed, and extended a hand to pat him on the head. “Little brother, I’m merely looking out for you. Don’t delude yourself into making me the bad guy.”

“Already forgotten?” Percival did not dare push Aglovale’s hand away, but he did dart backwards to avoid the condescending pat. “That was three years ago! I was ten!”

“My point exactly,” Aglovale sniffed, and let his hand drop disappointed to his side. “Ten is far too old to go crying like an infant. If it’s only been three years since, you’re no better than a five year old now. So we’ll be practicing with the wyverns as children do.” And here Aglovale’s demeanor changed. Gone was the condescending older brother, replaced instead with the sharp-eyed teacher Percival had come to be familiar with. “Or do you have any further objections?”

Percival said nothing, scowling instead as he marched down the road toward the wyvern padlock where the weak-winged creatures waited. They could barely fly a foot off the ground with a rider, and Percival couldn’t help but think this a poor substitution for the real thing. But even as he sat astride his too-small mount and guided it through far too familiar riding exercises, he was dreaming.

Dreaming of gold dragons.


	2. The Hatching Grounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hatching Day is finally upon them, and Percival at last has the chance to prove himself before the newborn dragons. But a wrench gets thrown into his well-laid plans, and that wrench's name...is Vane.

Whether Aglovale liked it or not, the forward march of time was unavoidable. The white spring flowers of the strawberry bushes faded and the red berries scarcely had time to peek curiously between broad green leaves before they were picked clean by birds and the more fortunate squires. Late summer was upon them, and with it the glory of Hatching Day.

 _At last,_ Percival thought as he donned his ceremonial riding gear and joined the procession of squires in front of the castle. _Aglovale will have to acknowledge me as a dragon rider._

Though called Hatching Day, the name of the holiday was actually a little misleading. Mother Nature had no concept of deadlines, and in her chaotic way dragons from all across Wales flew in and out of the hatching grounds as they pleased to lay their eggs at all hours during the hatching season. Hatching Day was merely the day the last egg cracked, when the dragon tenders would rush back to the castle and bear the good news to the king and queen. It was the day after the hatching that most of the celebration would take place, when at last the squires would be assembled and sent to find their life partner amidst the baby dracolings.

In the past it had been considered a rite of passage for squires to track down a wild adult dragon to tame for riding instead. A few stubborn traditionalists still held out that the old ways forged a person’s true character. But those more given to love and empathy saw this method-- dragon and human finding each other as children and growing together like family--as a bond unlike any other, stronger than that of master and steed.

Percival’s father of course felt the former, while his mother the latter. Which was why when the squires were lead in traditional procession into the throne room he saw one of his parents frowning at him, while the other smiled and waved. The dragon squires bowed to receive the blessings of the royal family--traditional, though Percival wondered whether he couldn’t bless himself--and reluctantly his father rose to touch each of the squires on their right shoulder and bid them good luck in raising their dragon partners. His mother, on the other hand, would touch each squire on their left, and offer a prayer to the dragons to protect their humans in return.

“Remember to love and cherish each other above all else. Just as I love and cherish you,” his mother whispered, and Percival’s face flushed bright red as she brushed a quick kiss to the top of his head. He was glad the other squires all had their eyes turned respectfully to the ground, though Lancelot made a soft adoring sound by his side and Percival couldn’t help but think that he had overheard.

His father, on the other hand, was far more terse.

“Do your family proud,” were his only four words before a heavy hand clapped Percival’s shoulder and then was gone, already moving on to Lancelot who staggered a little under the blow. Though Percival wished to keep his mother’s words a little longer, they were swiftly burned out by his father’s command.

 _What if I can’t make my family proud?_ The thought flitted briefly across Percival’s mind, but he swiftly pushed it down with all the confidence he’d been forced to build to survive his position. _No ifs. I must, and so I will._ At last the dragon squires were bidden to rise, and Percival took this message with him in his heart as they marched off toward the hatching grounds under the guidance of the riders.

He would find his gold, and he would prove himself a worthy inheritor of his family’s legacy. There was simply no other choice in the matter.

Still, though he repeated the words to himself with as much confidence as he could muster, nothing could prepare him for when they finally came upon the hatching grounds. As he followed the other squires onto the hand-cranked elevator platform that would lower them into the grounds, his gaze caught on the sight ahead and his whole body froze.

The sky was ablaze with colour. Like dawn breaking over an endless ocean, colours streaked the sky and earth, fading together until the eyes couldn’t tell the one from the other. In the mass of dracolings leaping and flapping their newborn wings, Percival wondered dimly how he was supposed to track down a single elusive gold dragon. By far the largest of all dragons, golds were also the closest to extinction, known as the heaven dragons. Even as the elevator platform touched down on earth and the dragon squires looked timidly around, Percival remained staring blankly ahead. It would take a miracle from heaven indeed if he wanted to find his gold.

“Go on,” one of the dragon riders prompted as they delayed, amusement rich in his deep voice. Percival shook off his daze and turned to see Lancelot’s teacher Sir Siegfried already reclined comfortably against the steep rocky walls of the hatching ground, watching them all through half-lidded eyes.

With his loosely crossed arms and tumble of brown hair thrown casually over one shoulder, Sir Siegfried looked as though he had always been there, though of course that could not be the case. A natural bowl cut deep into the stone by ancient glacial movements, the only way in or out of the grounds was by wing if you were a dragon, or by elevator if you were a regular human. The dragon riders of course favoured the former, and Siegfried’s black dragon Ascalon waited patiently by his side. They could only have just arrived, but already they looked as though they belonged there, as though they’d grow moss at any minute.

“I suppose there’s some strategy in waiting to see which dragons come to you,” Sir Siegfried added slowly, “but I think you’ll find life a lot more interesting if you take fate into your own hands.”

At his words Ascalon’s tail suddenly struck out, shedding the illusion of stillness. It caught the nearest squire in the middle of the back and knocked him forward with a loud “oof!” For his part Sir Siegfried merely closed his eyes and smiled, keeping it a secret whether he’d taught his dragon that command or the creature had chosen to do so of his own accord. Spurred on by his words--or perhaps the fear of a dragon tail to the back--the other squires began to stumble forward, calling out to dragons and attempting to lure them with food and toys. But Percival lingered a moment longer, eyes on Lancelot’s mysterious teacher, scarcely into adulthood but already accomplished enough to have squires of his own.

Percival wondered whether he would be in that position too someday.

“Why do you hesitate?” A familiar voice called from above him, and Percival stiffened as he realized he was being addressed by none other than his elder brother. He tore his eyes away from Siegfried and toward the sky, where Aglovale descended like the shining sun atop Gottfried’s back. He was eying Percival with something that might have been doubt, or might have been disappointment. With one lofty glance at the other squires Aglovale gracefully dismounted Gottfried and came to stand by Percival’s side, still towering over him despite his recent growth spurt.

“You know,” Aglovale said in a low voice, and Percival startled as he realized that Aglovale was trying to be _gentle,_ “dragons this young aren’t dangerous. They’re clumsy fliers who don’t yet have the ability to create frost or flame. The most you have to worry about is a playful bite or two. You don’t have to be afraid of them.”

“I--” Percival couldn’t even formulate the words to respond. Despite the fact that he was standing here on the cusp of obtaining a dragon of his own, Aglovale still saw the little boy who had cried and hidden behind his mother’s dress when she’d introduced him to her dragon years ago. His mouth opened and closed uselessly for a moment, not even sure where to begin. Perhaps with the fact that he’d recently been washing mother’s dragon without so much as a flinch? But instead he drew his emotions tightly inside of him, raised himself to his tallest height, and said in an unaffected tone: “I believe that is all in the past. Thank you brother.” And strode straight into the swarm of dracolings without looking back.

It was only a hundred steps later, surrounded on all sides by indifferent dracolings pouncing on crickets or pulling each other’s tails, that Percival realized he had shaken off a perfectly reasonable helping hand extended toward him. And worse, it was the _only_ helping hand he was getting. He hadn’t noticed straight away, but since they had entered the hatching grounds his obedient little shadow had vanished. For the first time in a long time Percival was truly alone.

Maybe he _was_ a little afraid, but not for the reasons Aglovale thought.

With no one to guide him and no one to cheer him on, Percival let himself feel a little vulnerable for once as he wound his way through the darting dragons. Out here where everyone was too distracted to spare him a glance, he for the first time had the luxury of being a part of the scenery. No one stopped to question the uncertain look in his eyes as he scanned the skies for his dragon, or the way his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides as worry began to eat at him.

But then a flash of sunlight caught his eye and Percival almost laughed in relief. As always he pushed the emotion deep inside of himself and forced his hasty legs to walk instead of run. What he was beginning to think was hiding from him was instead right out in the open, the glow of sunlight on scales nearly blinding in the midst of a ring of frolicking dracolings. In the end it was as easy for him as it had been for Aglovale, and Percival never should have worried in the first place.

At least that was how he felt until he found the dragon, when suddenly his heart dropped from his throat to his stomach in one disconcerting motion. For the radiant glint of sunlight on scales came not from a gold but from a particularly pearly white, napping peacefully on a rock in the midst of all the commotion. This time Percival _did_ make a sound, though it wasn’t a laugh. It was something hideous and unbecoming of his station, and he forced it down again when it startled the white dracoling awake.

“Sorry to bother you,” he said through clenched teeth, as he turned swiftly on his heel and marched in the opposite direction. And perhaps that was his problem, because he had always been taught to be gracious and above worldly emotions. Perhaps his gold hadn’t appeared because he didn’t look as kingly as he should.

_It's worth a shot, at least._

Retreating for a moment to school his expression, Percival pressed his back against the rock wall and covered his face with gloved hands. He breathed in the leather scent of his fingerless riding gloves slowly, blocking out the sight of squires gathering up friendly dracolings in their arms and running back to show their teachers. Here he was alone with his thoughts and with his legacy.

“I am the youngest son of the House of Wales. I am the son of Queen Herzeloyde and King Ghamuret. No one in this world is more deserving than I. What the world will not give me I will create for myself. There is no such thing as failure.” The words spurred his failing heart whether he believed them or not, and after a moment he lowered his gloves and let himself see the world once more. “...I think. I think I’m ready.” He pushed off from the wall again, intending to find his gold whether it took him all day and all night. Nothing and no one could distract him from his task now.

...Except something did. Immediately. For off to his right, looking unusually harried, Percival spied Lancelot glancing swiftly around and then ducking into a shallow cave.

_What?_

Resolution immediately forgotten, Percival skulked along the rock wall he had been leaning on, his tread undetectable amidst the squawking and tiny roars of the baby dragons. The cave was little more than a shallow scoop in the rock: a shelter for the dracolings during storms and nothing more. With the promise of food about there would be little reason for dracolings to remain in the cave now, making Lancelot’s actions even more suspicious. What had he seen, and why had he left Percival’s side to attend to it?

It turned out--as Percival turned his ear in the direction of the cave entrance--what he’d found was a _person._

“Vane!” Lancelot whispered, too loudly, too frantically. “What are you _doing_ here? You know only squires are allowed in the hatching grounds at this time! What were you _thinking?”_

“Huh? I just wanted to see Lanchan get his dragon. What’s so wrong with that?”

The other voice sounded unusual to Percival’s ears. It was too high-pitched, but didn’t waver like someone going through voice-changing. A girl, maybe? Did Lancelot have a secret girlfriend?

Percival didn’t like the way that thought settled bitterly on his tongue.

“What do you mean ‘what’s so wrong with that’? If someone sees you then we’re both going to be punished! We’ll be mucking the stables for months, or perhaps they’ll have us run laps around the castle while reciting what we did wrong for everyone to hear. No rest, or it’ll be another ten laps!

“Wahaha! Sounds like good training to me! I’m going to be a dragon squire someday too, so I need to get big and strong!”

“It’s no laughing matter Vane! Maybe they’ll tell me I’m not mature enough to have a dragon yet and they’ll hold me back for a year. Who knows what’ll happen? Just get out of here, quick!”

“They what? They wouldn’t do that. Would they, Lanchan? Would they?!” The voice suddenly sounded too thick, and as the sniffling started Percival realized why. “I didn’t--I didn’t mean to get you in trouble Lanchan. I...I...WAAAAAH!”

 _Oh._ Percival’s heart felt lighter, but his head felt heavier. He leaned against the rock wall as his mind started to swim. It wasn’t a girl that Lancelot was talking to in the cave. It was a child.

“C-Calm down! Calm down Vane! I’m not angry, look! See, I’m still smiling!”

“W-Why? I ruined everything for you. The other kids are right. I’m the biggest bumbler who can’t do anything right!”

“No you’re not! We’re going to work this out, okay? Let me think. ...Okay, I’ve got it. I’ll go and tell Sir Siegfried about this. He’s good at keeping secrets so he won’t tell anyone else. Even if he punishes me he won’t make a big deal out of it. I’ll just work hard through the punishment and then everything will be okay again. It’ll be training, just like you said.”

“He w-won’t hold you back a year?”

“Sir Siegfried? No, he wouldn’t do that. He’d tell me something like ‘you have to learn to live with your mistakes’ and give me extra work to do. He wouldn’t hold me back, he’d just push me harder.”

“He sounds--” Percival grimaced at the gross snuffling noise like a nose being wiped loudly-- “He sounds like a g-good person. When I become a squire I wanna learn from Sir Siegfried!”

“That’s the spirit,” Lancelot laughed a little breathily. Percival thought he must be on the edge of either panic or relief to make a sound like that. “Okay, just wait here quietly. I’ll go get him. He’ll cover for you, and maybe even give you a ride out of here on his dragon. So don’t move, okay?”

“I get to ride a dragon!?”  
  
“Shh, Vane, shh! Only if you’re quiet!”

“I get to ride a dragon,” Vane repeated, and though quieter it was no less full of wonder. Even outside of the cave and the tense situation, Percival sighed in relief. He’d miss Lancelot if he was suspended, but once again his cool-headed companion had turned a bad situation into a good one. Percival didn’t know much about Siegfried, but he trusted Lancelot’s judgment. If Lancelot thought this was the best course of action, then it was the best course of action. Percival would support him through it.

...And now was the chance to say so, as Lancelot peeked out the cave and went completely white at the sight of him standing there.

“Percival!? D-Did you…”

Percival raised his hands in a gesture of peace, and the light of panic faded from Lancelot’s eyes. Instead of crashing white waves his eyes went as soft as the lapping waters at the edge of a quiet lake, and Percival wanted to lean forward and fall right in.

“I understand the situation. Don’t worry. Go and get Sir Siegfried. I’ll watch the kid while you’re away.”

“You w--oh Percival you could get in so much trouble for this! You don’t need to involve yourself with us,” Lancelot pleaded, even as his eyes told a different story. He moved closer, and this time Percival didn’t have time to worry about the colour rising to his cheeks. “Why would you go out of your way for us at an important time like this?”

“It’s nothing,” Percival snorted softly, and he marvelled at the way his breath set the stray hairs around Lancelot’s face dancing. “What trouble could the Prince of Wales get into? You’re the one who has to worry.” He raised his hand, then thought suddenly that he didn’t know where to put it. His shoulder? His cheek? But in a moment of fluster Percival instead planted it firmly in the center of Lancelot’s chest and pushed. “So stop dawdling and get on with it! Or is your conviction really so weak that you’re willing to be held back a year? Away from me?”

Oh he hadn’t intended to add that last part, but the flush on Lancelot’s face was worth it. He followed the motion of Percival’s push almost regretfully, the distance between them broadening. There was something in his expression, something light and searching, and Lancelot took a shaky breath.

“Thank you Percival. You’re right. I should go.” He bit his lip, on the verge of saying something else, and Percival rocked forward on his heels almost urgently, reaching for those words. “When I come back I want to tell you something, okay? So wait for me!”

And then he was gone, and leaning so far forward on his toes Percival could do nothing but stumble forward into the empty air. He stood for a moment in something like shock, something like wonder, and stared unseeing at the spot Lancelot had vacated.

_What could Lancelot want to say?_

_Maybe something like, “I--_

“I’ve never seen a dragon that looks like that before! Wow! It’s so sparkly and pretty!”

And whatever Percival had been thinking fell to pieces abruptly in his mind. Because there--standing together in the mouth of the cave--was the young boy that Lancelot had left behind, and a dracoling the colour of sunlight itself.

The colour of gold.


	3. Something Like Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percival and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

For years to come Percival would play this particular moment over and over again in his nightmares. It would haunt his footsteps and be whispered behind his back by voices too loud to truly be secretive. If only he had paid more attention. If only he had moved a little faster. And if only he hadn’t gotten distracted by his silly feelings for Lancelot. But in that moment--frozen in time standing in front of a cave where a boy and a gold dragon were meeting for the first time--he knew none of this. All he knew was that his heart had burst through his chest and was racing up over the edge the hatching grounds and out onto the open hills.

In his stillness, the little boy reached down and picked the gold dragon up.

“Aww, it’s friendly! Who’s a good little dragon! Who’s a good--aah!?” The boy spotted Percival suddenly and darted back into the cave, the contented dragon snuggled deep in his arms. Percival stared hopelessly after them, unable to take even a single step lest the ground crumble away beneath his feet. After a moment the boy--Vane--peeked out again, his head comically stacked atop the gold dragon’s.

“You didn’t see me, okay?! Here, I’ll let you pet the dragon when I’m done if you promise not to say anything!”

Percival didn’t respond, and put a hand over his face to stifle the strangled sounds coming out of it. He felt hot. He felt cold. He didn’t know what he felt. His mind was empty but at the same time so, so very full.

Was he being offered his only dream by a child? As a _bribe?_

 _Is it even possible?_ Percival thought desperately. Could he truly bury his pride long enough to allow the boy to hand him the gold dragon, and then go sprinting off to show Aglovale like the dragon had chosen him all along? Could he live the rest of his life as a lie, knowing that his dragon hadn’t actually chosen to go with him?

...No. He would never even get that far. If he took the gold dragon back to Aglovale it would wriggle and cry for the one it really wanted and give the whole ruse away in an instant.

 _So why? Why did the heaven dragon choose_ _him_ _?_

In many ways it was a mystery why dracolings chose their partners. Of course their favour could be curried with gifts of food or toys, but just as often a dracoling seemed to take a shine to a certain person _just because._ Maybe it was because dragon parents merely laid their eggs and flew away again, and the young instinctively looked for someone who could care for and protect them. Maybe they liked the look of a person, or the smell of them, or the texture of their hands. Maybe it was destiny which brought a dragon and a human together. Or maybe it was just the will of a tiny lifeform looking for someone to play with.

For whatever reason, dracolings formed a bond and formed it quickly. Once they’d decided where to place their trust it was all but impossible for someone to take its place.

“Whoa! Um! Are you okay? Did you catch a laughing sickness or something?” Vane asked suddenly, and Percival startled as he realized that it was true. He was laughing. He was laughing and laughing as his stomach muscles cramped and made him feel like he was going to vomit. He’d never felt like this before, and he hoped beyond all measures of hope that he would never feel like this again.

After today he wondered if he would even be _capable_ of feeling something again.

 **“You,”** he said suddenly, his eyes fixed on the child he had promised to look out for in a moment of softness. The child who had robbed him of all his dreams without even blinking. **“You don’t even know what you’ve done, do you?”** He tried laughing again, but all that came out was an agonized wheeze. His throat felt raw and he realized that he was shouting, alarmed dracolings fleeing in all directions and clearing a telltale circle all around them.

“U-Um…”

“No! Don’t answer that. Tell me--tell me this,” Percival forced himself to stand upright even as his torso ached and threatened to bring him to his knees. “Which kingdom are you from? Dalmore? Feendrache? I’ve heard that Feendrache wants to create an order of knights to compete with our dragon riders. Is this a part of their plot? Are you a son of House Feendrache?!” He didn’t know where these conspiracy theories were coming from, just that he needed something, _anything_ to explain what was happening here.

“House Feendrache? That big ol’ place? Nah, my house is little! It’s right next to Lanchan’s if you wanna know!”

Lanchan--Lancelot--was from a tiny village in the country, no more royal than the fish in the pond or insects in the grass. If this boy was speaking the truth, it meant he was a commoner.

The gold dragon had chosen a commoner over him.

Something happened to Percival then. For a moment he couldn’t see or hear. There was a howling in his head that he dearly hoped wasn’t spilling from his own lips, and then all he could see was the boy’s terrified face. Percival was shouting something, he realized, something about commoners and gold dragons and how he shouldn’t even be here in the first place. Tears were springing up in the young boy’s eyes as Percival pointed an accusing finger at him, and before he could regain control of himself the unthinkable happened.

The gold dragon leaned forward and bit him.

Something in Percival broke then. He stumbled back a few paces to nurse the wound, blood welling up in four neat little puncture marks down his finger. He couldn’t say anything and stared in disbelief as Vane fussed over his dragon and tried to apologize through his tears for letting it bite him.

Percival wanted none of it.

“Stay away from me you...you…” he breathed out slowly, “mongrel.” And then he didn’t say anything more as people suddenly swarmed around them, pointing and gasping and shouting things he couldn’t hear. Somewhere in the confusion Aglovale appeared by his side and pulled him away, shielding him from the pointing fingers with nothing but his own body. The last thing Percival saw before Aglovale shoved something into his arms and dragged him up on the back of Gottfried was a glimpse of a face so painfully familiar, but so painfully wrong. Lancelot was standing with Sir Siegfried a short distance away, his mouth open and face drained of all colour, staring at Percival with something like hurt.

Something like betrayal.

Aglovale clung tightly to Percival as Gottfried lifted them away, carrying them up above the hatching grounds, up above the hills and the houses. Percival had never been this high before, but he didn’t even have time to be scared as his mind buzzed and the wind howled all around them. He too clung on tightly, though to what he wasn’t quite sure. All he knew was that his arms felt heavy and something warm was bundled close to his chest. He didn’t have time to wonder after it now.

It was only two miles between the hatching grounds and the castle, the rolling green hills and dusty roads below giving way to streets of stone and bustling markets. He’d walked this route only an hour prior, head held high as the people marvelled and called well-wishes to the dragon squires on their journey. At the time he’d been looking forward to the walk back when they’d bring their dracolings into the city for the first time. Though cheering was discouraged during the return parade for fear of startling the baby dragons, people could not help but watch the procession and would occasional hand gifts of fruit and flowers to the dragon squires as they passed by.

Instead here Percival was, a hundred feet above the heads of the puzzled townsfolk, being escorted back to the castle by a tense and unyielding Aglovale. He didn’t know what was going to happen now. All he knew was that he had spent his whole life preparing for one single task and he had failed it beyond all redemption.

Perhaps his parents would send him off to magic school with Lamorak, their other dragonless son. But Lamorak at least had chosen that path himself, declaring at a young age that riding wyverns made his butt sore, and he didn’t want to go through life with a flat butt. At the time the carefree words had made them all laugh, but now they were beginning to hold a sour note. If Percival was sent away to magic school it would never be anything but a reminder of his failures, and in a moment of unreasonable selfishness he wanted any fate but that one.

His worst fears, thankfully, were completely unfounded. When Gottfried touched down in the castle courtyard Percival’s mother was already rushing toward them with open arms. Percival didn’t even have time to figure out how to dismount from this height before he was dragged straight off Gottfried’s back and into his mother’s awaiting arms, hands fussing over the bite on his finger and the sickly colour of his face.

“What happened? Is everything alright?” She stared in puzzlement at Percival’s blank face and then turned to Aglovale for answers. “Aglovale, please tell me your brother’s alright.”

“I think he’s just stressed,” Aglovale said carefully, as though he was still trying to work it out for himself. “There was a commotion in the hatching grounds that I need to discuss with you and father. We should take Percival somewhere quiet for a moment while I find--ah.” Over Herzeloyde’s shoulder, Percival saw his father striding regally into the courtyard, flanked on both sides by royal guards and looking deeply displeased. He ducked back down into his mother’s embrace, not yet ready to face that look of disapproval. Something around Percival’s stomach was squirming. Possibly his nerves.

“I’ll take Percy,” Queen Herzeloyde said quickly, covering his head with one hand. “The two of you can manage without me. I’ll be back in just a moment.” And like a magical creature in a fairytale story, Percival’s mother whisked him away to a better place. The squirming at his stomach at least seemed to settle for a moment as Queen Herzeloyde lead him up the stairs and into the security of his own bedroom. From the dressing table she drew a length of bandage and cut a small piece for Percival’s finger, offering him a gentle smile.

“Here, you and your dragon can rest as long as you need to,” she whispered, one kiss landing on Percival’s tender finger and another landing on his forehead. “He’s beautiful by the way. When this commotion is dealt with I want to hear all about it.” She ruffled his hair fondly, eyes searching for any sign that her beloved son was still at home. Percival still felt dazed, but in the privacy of his bedroom he was at least able to offer a weak smile. The relief on her face was tangible, and she beamed at him radiantly for a moment longer before her smile was eclipsed by the closing of the door. Percival was alone at last.

Well, kind of.

“My dragon?” He asked the empty room, and it felt like he was watching from outside his body as he tilted his head slowly downward. A pair of big black eyes blinking slowly up at him from the cradle in his arms, contrasted brightly against a pearly white face. The white dracoling yawned at him and then settled down as though he was as comfortable as a sun-kissed rock.

 _Could it be? How?_ Percival rifled through his tangled memories for when this had happened, but all he could recall was Aglovale shoving something into his arms when the confusion and shouting had broken out.

_Did Aglovale choose a dragon for me?_

Stunned, Percival sat down at the edge of the bed, staring helplessly at the bundle in his arms. He supposed that when it came down to it a white dragon was perhaps second-best in the eyes of a gold. Neither dragons of earth or heaven, the twin species of black and white were known as sky dragons. They were perhaps almost as rare as golds, appearing every few years or so, though they lacked the striking colour and awe-inspiring abilities that made golds so mythical. If Aglovale were to choose a dragon for him in a hurry, a white dragon would be the ideal runner-up candidate.

“It’s not fair,” Percival said suddenly, and his dragon made a sound of distress as a droplet of water splashed suddenly on the tip of his nose. Hot tears streamed down Percival’s cheeks, catapulting him immediate back to a childhood where he didn’t have to bottle up his emotions. He used to laugh at Lamorak’s jokes, and gasp in awe at Aglovale’s skill with the wyverns. He used to giggle in his mother’s arms and kiss her on the cheek, and trail timidly in his father’s footsteps while holding onto the edge of his cloak. He used to cry whenever he wanted. He’d cry when he was moved emotionally, at the end of a good bedtime story or when he watched a butterfly emerge from its cocoon. He’d cry when he felt scared, as dragons with heads as large as his whole body towering over him, or when his brothers argued and raised their voices. And he’d cry when he was sad or hurt, to share his pain, and to heal from it.

He hadn’t let himself cry like this in so long, and three years worth of stress and anguish boiled out of him all at once.

“It’s not fair,” he sobbed as he pulled his dragon close to his chest. “Because we’re both second best.”


	4. Life as Second Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The people in Percival's life deserve better. His family, his dragon, and also...himself. It's time to heal a few lingering wounds.

It was already late in the day when Percival finally felt collected enough to get out of bed, the orange light of evening painting the tapestries on his bedroom walls the colour of fire. Bitter sobs had left his body tired and aching, and blinking into the warm light streaming through his window he realized he’d fallen asleep. His body felt stiff, and far too heavy when he tried to push himself up. For a moment he thought he’d pulled a muscle in his chest, until with a squeak and a tumble of limbs a dragon rolled off of him to land softly in the blankets by his side. Percival stared at it for a moment, uncomprehending, until in a sudden rush of information it all came back.

Not  _ a  _ dragon.  _ His  _ dragon.

In the temporary peace of his bedroom, Percival rolled onto his side to get a closer look. The white dracoling shifted closer, pressing its nose into his cheek with large eyes blinking sleepily at him. For a moment he felt so inadequate, so undeserving. It was as though the baby dragon’s world began and ended with him.

“No more crying,” Percival whispered in a hoarse voice as he gathered the dracoling back into his tired arms, “I’m going to find out how this happened, and find a way to make it work.” And at last he found the energy to leave his room in pursuit of answers.

The familiar route to the throne room felt longer than usual, down the grand marble staircase with its ivy-patterned black banisters, and through high-ceilinged halls that echoed with his footsteps. Whether by the dracoling in his arms or the weariness in his limbs each step felt far heavier than usual, and he struggled not to scuff his boots along the cold stone floors.

Perhaps he was still dragging the weight of his reluctance.

When the towering double doors outside the throne room finally came into view Percival felt more apprehensive than ever. He paused at the sound of raised voices from within, suddenly uncertain about entering. On either side of the doors a pair of uniformed guards stared dead ahead, offering neither reaction to the raised voices nor to Percival’s sudden appearance. Taking this as permission, Percival leaned with false casualness against the doors hoping to hear more.

“It’s simply outrageous,” King Ghamuret growled, and the thudding that followed made it sound like he was stomping his foot like a child. “How did that boy get into the hatching grounds in the first place? The grounds are supposed to be impenetrable!”

_ Oh, so that’s what this is all about.  _ Percival felt his chest tighten, and he pulled his dracoling close as though to muffle the sudden racing of his heart. It seemed that he’d managed to ruin the peace in his family as well. More than ever he regretted not being able to keep his temper in check, though from the sounds of things he’d learned that one from his father.

“I imagine the same way everyone else did,” his mother replied smoothly. “By elevator.”

“And no one noticed the boy get on board?”

“Amongst two dozen other children of similar age all focused on the dragons below? It doesn’t seem so unlikely to me.” In contrast to his father’s voice, Queen Herzeloyde sounded reassuringly serene. It made the situation seem almost like amusing happenstance, and Percival felt some of his tension ease in response.

“And where were the child’s parents during all of this? That’s what I want to know. I want them to explain to me personally how they were so negligent in their child’s upbringing that he thought it was okay to trespass on the sacred hatching grounds.”

“Children will be children. Or do you believe you are also responsible for everything your three children have done?”

“Hmph,” came the articulate response, and then after a moment of silence King Ghamuret added a little more generously: “I suppose if it’s important to you then I will show some mercy. But the more serious matter is what is to be done with the boy and his stolen dragon.”

“Stolen? My dear, I would hardly call it stealing. Dracolings are not objects. They have a mind and a will of their own.”

“Then you would prefer I call it kidnapping?”

For a moment Queen Herzeloyde fell silent, and Percival thought that perhaps his father had turned the tide of their debate in his favour. But after a moment she spoke again, her kindly veneer stripped away and something fanged and protective in its place.

“Then what would you have us do? Send the dracoling back to the hatching grounds? Perhaps let it wander the wilds and see how it fares on its own? Is that the kingly thing to do when so many other dragons get to live happily and well-fed with their new partners?”

“Herzeloyde!” King Ghamuret sounded taken aback, and Percival thought for a moment that he detected his father’s will wavering. But though the king’s next words were quieter, he continued to press on regardless. “You know I admire your empathy. I really do. But if we don’t punish the boy for breaking the rules, what’s to stop others from following in his footsteps? We could have dragon thieves and trespassers left and right if we’re not careful.”

“The boy has only broken the rules if we decide he has broken the rules. They are ours to oversee, after all. If the rules are no longer serving their purpose then they have no place in our kingdom.”

“Just what,” the king said apprehensively, “are you suggesting?”

“It’s only a thought,” Queen Herzeloyde said, “but what if the starting age of squires was to be changed?”

The silence that followed her statement contained neither the stillness nor peacefulness that one would typically associate with quiet. It scurried like something alive, crawling up Percival’s arms and back and raising goosebumps in its footsteps. Abandoning all decorum he pressed his ear to the door, desperately, almost despairingly waiting for the answer. But then, to his immediate horror, the door opened a crack beneath his cheek.

“Eavesdropping is most certainly  _ not  _ a virtue,” a cool voice whispered into his ear, and Percival nearly headbutted Aglovale in the chin when he jumped in alarm.

“Neither is sneaking up on people,” Percival remarked drily, but as Aglovale opened the door further he reluctantly peeled himself away. His brother seemed tired, his eyelids creased and drooping. He may have only just found the opportunity to slip away.

“How long have they been--ah--discussing?” Percival asked as he stepped away, but Aglovale merely cast a weary glance back at the throne room and then inclined his head meaningfully with a tumble of golden hair. Percival understood, and he moved in the direction of Aglovale’s nod. His brother came to his side and they walked away from the throne room, not really anywhere particularly, but more to engage in the act of togetherness. In the echoing halls their footsteps fell into rhythm with each other, and Percival wondered when his stride had gotten long enough to match Aglovale’s.

“How are you feeling?” Aglovale asked by way of avoiding Percival’s question, and by the tenseness in his shoulders Percival could tell he felt awkward about the subject.

It was fitting, because Percival also felt awkward about answering.

“Confused,” he said eventually, one hand slipping out from under his dracoling to stroke a hand over the creature’s head, more for his own comfort than for the dragon’s. “A lot happened and I’m still trying to process it all.”

“Mm. It did,” Aglovale said, and for a while they left it at that. Comfort did not come as easily to Queen Herzeloyde’s sons as it did for her, and Percival did not press it, even as he yearned for Aglovale to tell him that everything was going to be alright.

“I do have one question,” Percival added, and grateful for the change in conversation Aglovale was quick to respond.

“Yes?”

“Why did you give me this?” Percival hefted his dragon in his arms for Aglovale to see. His brother’s saffron eyes wandered between them, confusion evident in the crease of his brow and the uncharacteristic slowness of his answer.

“He’s yours, is he not? He was following you even when you scared the rest of the dracolings away. It seemed as though you two already had a bond. Was I wrong?”

Percival looked down into dark eyes, a sharp contrast to the pearly scales that splintered light into rainbow fractures along the walls as they walked. Had the dracoling been following him ever since he had woken it up and forced that half-hearted apology between his teeth? 

_ What about that pathetic display appealed to it exactly?  _ Percival wondered.  _ And why did it choose to follow me even after I threw a tantrum over another dragon?  _ In a way it reminded him of his mother’s unconditional love. Percival felt a sudden wash of shame. How could he have thrown a fit over a gold when all that trust had been following unnoticed at his feet the entire time?

“No. You were not wrong,” Percival said softly.

“Good. I don’t much care for being corrected,” Aglovale scoffed, but in a way this was comforting too. It felt more natural for Aglovale to be frosty than lukewarm. It felt  _ normal. _ “Now don’t you have important matters you should attend to? Your dracoling needs more than to be carried around and babied. You should feed your dragon, and take him on a trip outside before bedtime. And while you’re at it, try to think of a name soon. I don’t enjoy this roundabout way of speaking.”

“Of course,” Percival said quietly, but his mind was still lingering on the shame dragging at his footsteps.  _ I’m still feeling sorry for myself, _ he realized,  _ instead of fixing the problem. _ And that thought alone was enough to shake Percival out of his sombre mood and make him lift his gaze. “Aglovale, a moment first, please. I have a lot I need to apologize for. I think I have acted very shamefully today.”

“Save it for when it is necessary,” Aglovale said, holding up a hand. Perhaps the conversation had grown too fragile between them, or perhaps he was simply weary of family matters for the day. “If there are those you still need apologize to, then apologize. But I am not one of them.” And he hastened ahead, either to give Percival some space, or to distance himself from the strange mood that had come over them. It was hard to say which.

It was too late in the day for apologies to be made now anyway. Already the violet hues of dusk spread inky tendrils across the sky, eating away the last notes of amber the sun had left behind. Percival left his brother to attend to his own thoughts, and he wandered out the castle doors and into the two-toned twilight. His dracoling fidgeted in his arms at the tempting scent of earth and leaves, and Percival gave his arms a rest as he set the dracoling on the ground to explore. Together boy and dragon circled the castle, stretching legs and weaving curiously through the symmetrically-planted flower beds.

“Well then, what shall we do about that name of yours,” Percival mused, his brow furrowed. Aglovale, as always, was right. A name would be far more appropriate than ‘my dragon’ this, and ‘my dragon’ that. As their mother often intolled, this bond between them was a partnership, not an ownership. 

Besides, it would give him something to discuss with the dragon squires tomorrow to chase away the bad memories of the previous day. He was eager to hear the names they had chosen for their dragon partners as well. Though a few already had names in mind when they descended into the hatching grounds, the older dragon riders had warned them that any and all plans were likely to change when they first laid eyes on their partner.

_ After all, _ Aglovale had once said,  _ Ainsophaur is not a name you would give a common earth dragon, nor is Eden suited for any but the esteemed white dragon of the legendary rider Lucifer. The name belongs to the dragon, not the other way around. _

“I think Aglovale would have my head if I named you Eden. Besides, it would be a little dramatic, even for me.” Percival smiled at his own private joke. “But you do deserve a name befitting royalty. Even as we are now, we are still members of House Wales.” Lamorak for one could hardly be counted on to tell a blue from a green, and if Percival wrote to him to explain that he’d been chosen by a white dragon instead of a gold, Lamorak would merely respond: ‘Dragons come in white?’ It seemed trite now, almost childish, to think that he’d placed so much importance on something as simple as colour.

...Or at least that’s what he told himself to feel better. It would take a little longer to truly dig up the roots of his deeply-held biases, but he had to start somewhere.

“You at least--” Percival murmured as he watched the dracoling bury his snout in the dirt and gleefully ruin his pristine appearance. It would be more work for him tonight to bathe the dragon, but somehow Percival couldn’t bring himself to mind much, “--do not deserve to feel like anything less.”


	5. Bridges Aflame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not always clear what kinds of consequences one's action might have, but Percival is beginning to discover that iceberg is a lot deeper than he had originally hoped.

It wasn’t until dawn blossomed over the skies of Wales that Percival finally settled on a name for his dracoling partner, drifting in and out of dreams and wakefulness until he wasn’t sure whether getting dressed for his first day as a dragon rider was real or fantasy. As he tugged on his brand new uniform he stared unseeing at his reflection, through the other side of the mirror to a Percival that others couldn’t see. Only Aglovale and his father knew this side of him, with their flaw-seeking eyes and too-sharp tongues. It was the visage of a boy who still clung to his mother’s dress and cried in her arms when life got too difficult to bear.

Percival’s eyes focused slowly in the morning light, not on himself, but on a white shape just visible in the mirror, curled peacefully at the foot of his bed. Now _he_ was a mother, in a way. He had to be strong for both of their sakes.

When he finally finished donning both his uniform and his insecurities, Percival descended the grand staircase in a half-asleep daze, his feet moving on autopilot and his thoughts a million miles away. In his cloud of dreaminess he almost missed a high-pitched whine that was gradually increasing in volume in the background, until his feet hit the bottom step and a sudden crescendo had him spinning around in surprise. As he looked back up the length of the dizzying, repetitive steps, he found the white dracoling perched on the top step like an uncertain duckling at the edge of a pool. The small creature paced the edge of the drop, tiny wings flapping uselessly on his back, calling out nervously in Percival’s absence.

For all his thoughts of parenting, he had wandered down the grand staircase by himself without a second thought.

Sprinted back up the staircase helped wake him up at least, even if carrying a baby dragon down a flight of stairs was a rather tall order for someone who hadn’t even had breakfast yet. Percival was wheezing when he finally hit the bottom step, and together they crumpled into a useless pile of human and dragon on the marble floor. As he waited for a moment to regain his breath, he was endlessly grateful to the guards and servants who passed by too tactful to say anything about his disheveled state. He certainly didn’t look the princely role right now, much less the parental one.

 _I’m really not ready for this,_ Percival thought amidst gasps.

When Percival finally caught his breath and smoothed his hair back against his head, he was at least able to put on a semi-presentable appearance for his family waiting at the breakfast table. He just hoped he wasn’t too red in the face as he stooped to pick up his dragon partner again. Aglovale would likely scold him for babying the dracoling, but he could only think of all the doorways between here and there, and how he might accidentally close a door between them in his carelessness. What a nightmare it would be to retrace his steps all over the castle if they got separated.

In this manner, with doors awkwardly pushed open with his shoulder and his posture slightly stooped as he bore the weight in his arms, Percival came into the dining room a little less regally than he would have liked. It perhaps didn’t matter anyway. Immediately as he entered he knew this was no ordinary family breakfast. He paused at the sight before him, the head of the table empty and his father instead sat in the middle of the lengthy dining table. On either side of him--eating in stony silence and avoiding each other’s eyes--were Aglovale and his mother. The rest of the chairs had been swept away, leaving only a single seat on the opposite side of the table. It looked more like a grand jury than a family.

Percival suppressed a grimace. He didn’t much care for the idea of sitting on the opposite side of his family and being interrogated, so instead he freed an arm just long enough to pluck a croissant from the bread basket. Breakfast in hand he turned away again to make his leave, and was only two short paces from the door when the sound of a throat being cleared told him that he wasn’t going to get off so easily. Reluctantly he ground to a halt to listen.

“Percival, you need to get up earlier in the morning if you don’t have time to sit with your family,” his father said sternly behind him. Percival turned slowly, his tired mind working overtime to select his next careful words.

“Of course, father. I must have misjudged how much time I needed to get into my new uniform. I will have this mistake corrected by tomorrow morning.”

“Percival--”

“Percy,” Queen Herzeloyde interjected gently, and if it was anyone but his mother such rudeness would have never been permitted. In his chair King Ghamuret shifted in annoyance but remained quiet. “Please, I’m sure it would be forgiven if you’re just a few minutes late for your dragon rider duties. Aglovale can go ahead and excuse your absence. We have something we need to talk to you about…”

As it did for the king, and as it even did for his brothers, Queen Herzeloyde’s gentle but insistent manner infiltrated his walls and nearly brought the whole structure down around him. Percival’s will wavered, and he thought that maybe it would be best to face the situation now rather than later. Perhaps this was merely a test, the first of many apologies he would have to make. His mind made up, Percival took a step toward the table, opened his mouth, and then was immediately interrupted by a soft whine in his arms. Tiny teeth nibbled hungrily at the edge of his sleeve, and as he stared down at the dracoling Percival shook his head in a flurry of strawberry strands.

“No. I must apologize, but I need to attend to my dragon’s needs at the moment. We shall have to talk later today.” And seizing the opportunity he spun on his heel and nearly jogged out of the room, his long legs making short work of those last few steps. Behind him, beneath his mother’s understanding hum and Aglovale’s disapproving sigh, Percival heard a single foreboding message from his father--

“Well, he will learn soon enough.”

\--before the door closed between them and Percival was left (almost) alone in the hallway, wondering in the sudden quiet whether he had just made another mistake.

 _Hopefully this one will not come back to bite me,_ Percival thought as he pulled his bandaged hand away from the baby dragon’s questing teeth, _figuratively or literally._

A bowl of meat trimmings from the kitchen and a trip outside later, and the white dracoling was feeling once again sleepy and content. It was the complete opposite to Percival’s suddenly wakeful and overworked mind. Still, he pushed his concerns aside for the moment as he set the dracoling on the flagstones, encouraging it to walk down the courtyard path by his side while he finished his croissant. The food in his stomach and the scent of the summer breeze were rejuvenating, and for a moment Percival thought that perhaps he could find a grain of normalcy in all this. If he let his feet walk the same path they always did, surely everything else would fall into place.

However, as the two of them strolled together he did not find the normalcy he craved. What he found instead was something new, something strange, and--perhaps if he allowed himself a moment of humour--something funny.

In the courtyard, drilled from the very first day to be prompt and orderly during these morning meetings, the former squires were lining up neatly along the walkway and waiting without complaint. Already a dozen or so were gathered, backs straight and with arms at their sides or crossed behind their backs. With no buckets and brushes to greet them today the riders were on their best behaviour, fresh new uniforms polished and heads held high as they sought to impress on their very first day of dragon rearing.

On the other hand…

Not at all trained and frolicking as only baby animals could, the dracolings were _everywhere._ The more patient of them sprawled all over the path and the lawn, finding the best spots to warm in the morning sun and lick dew off the shivering blades of grass. Less ruly dragons, however, were chasing each other in circles, trampling the neatly trimmed hedges, or flapping into the apple trees to steal the royal fruit.

“Vyrn!” A brown-haired boy hissed from the end of the line, followed by a shrill squeal of “Bahamut, no!” from his fairer-haired sister. The red and black dragons respectively ignored their future riders, instead intent on shaking the last of the apples from the branches of a creaking and strained tree. The moment the small, underripe fruit hit the ground the red dracoling was upon them, guarding its precious haul. The black dragon, on the other hand, did not seem so much interested in the fruit as destroying everything around it. As Percival watched, it sunk its teeth into the nearest branch and began to chew.

“I’m going to have to tie his mouth shut at this rate,” the girl sighed, already looking tired though the day had just begun.

“Don’t worry. They’ll learn in time,” Percival offered as he came to line up next to them. At his feet the white dracoling was already extraordinarily obedient--or extraordinarily clingy--as it curled around his ankles for a morning nap. “Our trees have survived far worse.” They’d survived Lamorak, for one. But despite what Percival considered his most cordial tone, the twins snapped up straight at the sight of him, their arms plastered firmly at their sides and their eyes fixed dead ahead. Percival’s gaze hardened on the two of them, and he swallowed back the taste of foreboding that rose bitterly to his tongue.

“There’s no need for formalities, Gran, Djeeta,” Percival said stiffly, wishing he could force a little more warmth into his voice. “We’ve been training together for a year now. We should be familiar enough with each other to do away with such things.”

“Yeah, of course,” Djeeta said quickly, eyes averted.

“Of course, Your Highness,” Gran added cautiously, as if unsure whether this counted as a formality or not.

Percival didn’t know either. Lancelot at least always called him by his name. He thought all the squires had, unless he hadn’t noticed. Or unless something had changed.

“Have either of you seen Lancelot?” Percival asked suddenly, desperate for something to warm the chilly atmosphere he’d unwittingly walked into.

His question, at least, got more than an automated response from the twins, though Percival wasn’t sure whether a flinch was much of an improvement. Djeeta at least finally looked at him, though her forehead was wrinkled in worry as she glanced nervously between him and Gran. Meanwhile Gran seemed on the verge of saying something, but couldn’t quite manage to get the words out. Percival waited, patience sorely tested, as Gran turned his hands over each other and made a few aborted attempts to speak.

“I um. Well. You see. Lancelot said--”

“I said not to let that spoiled prince anywhere near me,” came a sudden hostile voice from behind him. In an instant Percival’s whole body went rigid. All of the humour drained out of him at once. Something cold and wet trickled down his back, like the frosty breath of a blue dragon on his neck. Slowly he turned to see who had addressed him in such a crass manner, already knowing and already dreading the answer.

Once upon a time he’d thought Lancelot’s eyes were like water, but now he knew that he was wrong. Instead they were two points of burning blue fire, blazing through the darkness of his unruly dark hair with a righteous fury.

“Oh forgive me, I meant, ‘that spoiled prince Your Royal Highness.’ I’ll mind my manners even if you can’t mind yours.” Lancelot held his gaze sharply and moved as if to push past him. Percival stood frozen to the spot, not used to moving aside for others even if he could find his legs to do so. However at the last moment Lancelot seemed to shy away, instead skirting around him without quite touching him. Percival felt a wild sense of relief. Perhaps this new thuggish behaviour wasn’t comfortable for Lancelot either. It was only a brief moment of vulnerability, but Percival seized it like it was his only lifeline in these new, turbulent waters.

“Lancelot,” he called, the blood rushing back into his legs and causing him to stumble gracelessly forward. “I wanted to--I wanted--” he wanted a lot of things which were suddenly proving too hard to say, starting with ‘I acted inappropriately’ and ending with ‘I’ve accepted my dragon now and won’t behave like that again.’ But the words got tangled in his throat, and he couldn’t seem to make them come out. In the end the only thing he could force between his lips was: “I wanted to introduce you to my dragon, Lohengrin.”

And Lancelot turned back to him, his expression sweet but his words the sourest medicine Percival had ever tasted.

“I really don’t care.”

And now Percival understood what betrayal felt like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately I got through my chapter buffer really quickly, so expect new chapters to take about as long as this one to go up. Please look forward to the next one in about two weeks!


	6. If He Could Turn Back Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are a lot of things Percival would do to change his past, but what he really needs to figure out is how to change his future.

Lancelot was never angry. This was the one constant Percival knew to be true in this world. Even when they first met and Lancelot had no reason to give him the benefit of the doubt, he had still offered him a welcoming hand. But now, when Percival needed that second chance the most, he’d somehow lost it.

He remembered those early days, when the dragon squires had been chosen and brought to the castle for the first time. Percival of course had been guaranteed his spot in the ranks from the beginning, and knew nothing of the hardship nor training the other children had gone through. All he knew was that Aglovale had been promised as his instructor, but without his knowledge or approval, he one day found that he was not the only one to have been assigned a dragon rider as a teacher.

When he’d been lead into the courtyard to meet the other children for the first time he’d felt cheated. His carefree days of sitting on a wyvern’s back with Aglovale leading him slowly around the paddock had been robbed from him, replaced with team activities and chores to attend to. Though Aglovale promised that they’d see each other after lunchtime for their usual activities, Percival wanted nothing of the change in routine and new people in his life. He walked a pace behind Aglovale down the courtyard path--not because he was hiding, and not because he was nervous--but because he was merely reluctant.

(Well, perhaps a little of those things too.)

“Oh, it’s the prince!” One girl cried, and curtsied when she saw him. The other children were less courteous or less certain of what to do, asking amongst themselves:

“Prince Aglovale? No wait, Prince Percival too?”

“Is he going to be training with us?”  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous! The son of House Wales has more important things to do!”

“Is it really him? I’ve never seen him in person…”

Then, from amidst the crowd of chattering children which had already formed its closed circles and tightly-knit friend groups, a single dark-haired boy walked forward and extended his hand to shake. Percival stood his ground, eying the offered hand carefully. His nails were clean, but the edge of the boy’s linen sleeve was frayed, a single thread trailing temptingly down from the thin wrist. Percival thought if he plucked at it, the whole boy might unravel and leave him in peace. He looked up at Aglovale, trying to communicate with his eyes alone how much he didn’t want this.

“I see you are already making friends,” Aglovale said with the kind of detached pleasantry Percival often saw in adults, and then the traitor stepped to the side to expose him more openly to the crowd. “It will be good to meet some children around your own age for once, or so I’ve been informed. I’ll be back for you after lunch, so try to make yourself at home until then.” And then he turned away with impossibly long strides of his legs, each a mile long or more, taking him over the horizon and into distant lands.

 _But this_ is _my home,_ Percival grumbled to himself.

“Is a handshake not okay?” The boy asked suddenly as Percival remained still. “I’ve never done this before. What would you rather? I could bow or kiss your hand instead?”

“No one’s hand is getting kissed,” Percival said with quiet alarm, and hastily hid his hands behind his back just to make sure. He thought for a moment he saw something glimmer inside the boy’s blue eyes, but then it was hidden behind a sweeping bow and a tangle of dark hair.

“Let’s try this then! My name is Lancelot, and it’s an honour to--to--ah. I don’t remember the rest. How do the nobles say it? I’ve only seen them in public events, so I’m not very good at this yet.” He fussed a minute with his hair, twirling it round and round his finger even as he continued to stare at the ground. “Well it’s an honour, at least.” And he straightened up at last with a smile and a swing of his arms.

In such a foreign situation, all Percival could do was stare with a blank expression, and then offer a quiet: “Hmph.” He didn’t know what the nobles said either, as he and Lamorak did their best to sneak away whenever they were ushered into one of the boring royal to-dos. Perhaps Aglovale could have told them, but Aglovale had abandoned him here. If he died of social interaction, then he hoped his mother and father knew who to blame.

“And what’s _your_ name?” Lancelot prompted eventually.

“You don’t even know my name?” Percival asked, aghast.

“Well I _know_ it,” Lancelot admitted with another bashful tug of his hair. “But I thought it would be best if you told me what to call you.”

“It’s Percival. Obviously.” He was almost shaking when he forced the words out, but then that glimmer was back in Lancelot’s eyes and Percival would soon learn that this was a bad sign.

“Well then it’s nice to meet you, Percival Obviously!” And even though it still looked polite, Percival felt suspicious of the fact that his smile had just broadened.

“Well. Yes. I suppose it obviously would be nice to meet me.” And then, without quite knowing what he said, he watched in bafflement as the boy covered his mouth with one hand and began to make stifled giggling noises. He was laughing! The other children in the crowd stopped their chattering at once, and turned to stare at the sounds Lancelot was making with confusion writ on their faces. Percival could practically read their expressions: _Is he laughing with the prince? Or at the prince?_

Percival didn’t know either, but to save face he let out a soft little chuckle of his own, and that seemed to be enough to draw Lancelot’s hand away from his face again. There was something nice about that face, Percival decided. Oh his hair was a mess and his features were largely unremarkable save for his bright eyes, but his smile seemed to take the whole and remake it into something beautiful.

“I didn’t know you’d have a sense of humour! I think I’m going to like it here after all.” And suddenly, against all odds, Percival felt a pang of kinship with this boy. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one who felt out of his depth here. With the eyes of the other children on them, Percival shuffled closer, lowering his voice to a whisper.

“Did you not like it here before?”

“Well,” Lancelot paused, and then he too began to whisper. “I think maybe I was a little nervous. It’s my first time in the castle, and I don’t really know any of the other squires. But I think now that I’ve met someone nice I’m not really nervous at all.”

And, weirdly, Percival felt the same way.

 _If only I could turn back time,_ Percival thought as he watched Lancelot’s retreating back. _I could redo Hatching Day and change everything._ He could feel Gran and Djeeta’s eyes on him, watching the drama unfold with what could have been concern, or could have been schadenfreude. Percival didn’t know them well enough to say. He was starting to wonder if he knew anyone really, with the way Lancelot had suddenly changed before his eyes. The boy who had once been warm and bright was now so very cold, cut from whatever material had been used to build Aglovale and sculpted in the shape of what had once been a friend. Could he really trust anyone else after that?

Even as Percival kept his eyes trained on his former friend, Lancelot moved purposefully without looking back, choosing to stand at the far end of the line instead. Percival had no doubt that if he moved to join him Lancelot would move to the opposite side again, and they could go round-and-round the former squires like they were playing musical chairs. So instead he stood stiffly, hands by his sides, and didn’t say anything as he watched Lancelot go. How could he? He couldn’t even begin to grasp what Lancelot was feeling right now.

 _I betrayed him,_ Percival thought for perhaps the first time. He’d been so wrapped up in his own feelings that he hadn’t even begun to consider how he’d affected others. _I said I’d watch that child. I promised I’d keep it a secret. And then as soon as Lancelot turned his back I did the opposite of what I said I would. Maybe I can’t trust him now, but he can’t trust me either._

At last Percival turned away from Lancelot to look straight ahead, as all good dragon riders should. But his eyes were less on the courtyard around him, and more on his own uncertain future. _All I can do now is build his trust back up again by proving I can be relied upon. But how many weeks will that take? How many months?_ And then, a darker thought. _Or can I even change the way he sees me at all?_ After all, Percival had seen more than once the way Aglovale still treated him as a child. Maybe people didn’t see each other in the present at all, but instead looked only at the memories they had of each other. The only way he could change Lancelot’s outlook would be to create enough good memories to drown out the bad ones.

 _But,_ Percival wondered as he tried and failed not to glance sideways at the dark-haired figure standing at the other end of the line, _will Lancelot even give me that chance?_

One thing was certain, he had to be on his very best behaviour from now on. No broken promises, and no sudden outbursts. Hopefully the universe would not give him reason to do either--

“Lanchaaaan!”

Percival closed his eyes slowly. Perhaps there was no hope after all.

“Lanchan, Lanchan look! They’re going to let me keep her!” The young blonde boy bounded across the courtyard green, leaping over hedges and dodging baby dragons like he’d done this every day of his life. Hot on his heels the gold dragon streaked like a burst of fire in his footsteps, flashing brightly in the sunlight and making happy little squealing sounds as she ran. Percival had never seen such an improper display from a gold dragon before, and when his eyes finally slid shut he decided to keep them that way. Staring into the backs of his eyelids seemed a lot safer than finding out what a sudden crashing sound and giddy laughter was about.

“Vane! Are you supposed to be here? What’s going on?” Lancelot said, and Percival most certain did _not_ feel a sharp twinge of jealousy at the sudden lightness in his tone.

“Yeah it’s fine! Mr. and Mrs. Your Majesty said I could!”

“The--wait the king and queen? Did you meet them?!”

“Uh-huh! Did you know? The queen is really nice and really pretty! She said I reminded her of the prince when he was younger! Umm, she didn’t say which one though…”

 _Not Aglovale,_ Percival thought as he literally bit his tongue, wedging it between the molars on the side of his mouth so he wouldn’t be tempted to speak. _He would rather throw himself in the castle dungeon than be caught behaving like this in public._ It was so hard not to say anything that he was actually trembling, his hands clenched so tightly at his sides that he was staring to lose feeling in his fingers. Even worse than Aglovale was the possibility that his mother had meant Percival himself. Wouldn’t it be the bitterest medicine if his mother started liking this strange boy more than him, just like Lancelot did?

No, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut after all. It was just too much.

“Don’t you realize where you are?” Percival snapped, his eyes opening with a fiery glow that sought out the boy and his radiant dragon instantly. Vane flinched at the sudden shouting, recognizing the voice and tone immediately. “This is the royal courtyard, an extension of the castle itself! If you can’t behave with dignity in a place like this, then I doubt that you’d be worthy of a royal invitation! I didn’t hear anything from my mother and father about this, so I can only assume that--”

“You might have heard something, if you could spare the time to sit with your own family at breakfast,” a stern voice said, and from the far end of the castle strode a much more dignified, and much more severe procession. The king’s heavy boots echoed in the courtyard space, colliding with the cobblestone path as though he were trying to break the stones underfoot. By his side, passing like a breath of wind with light, elegant footsteps came Percival’s mother, and somewhere between the two extremes was Aglovale himself, elegant but sturdy.

Trailing a little behind, slower of step but no less certain, was a strange woman that Percival had never seen before. She had the quiet, unhurried air of seniors, more interested in enjoying her surroundings than moving quickly through them. She seemed less impressed to be in the company of royalty than in the company of so many baby dragons, and she made soft, adoring sounds whenever she passed one by.

“Stand down, Percival,” his father ordered, and it was only then that Percival realized he’d stepped a pace out of line to chastise Vane, making a spectacle of himself once more as the rest of the dragon squires looked on.

“Ooooh,” Percival heard one of them mutter behind him, clearly pleased to see the prince get reprimanded before their very eyes.

“Shh,” another whispered, but it was too late. Now Percival could only imagine that they were all laughing behind his back, a meaner-spirited version of the way Lancelot used to laugh at the things he said as though they were sharing some kind of joke. Lancelot at least wasn’t laughing, but the way he had a protective arm around Vane and was openly glaring at him left no ambiguity. Percival had no allies here.

“My apologies,” Percival said, and perhaps it was a little spiteful of him to turn back to Vane and say with meaning: “I didn’t intend to cause a _disruption.”_ And he stepped swiftly back in line with his ears burning and his eyes trained on the row of hedges opposite. He didn’t want to meet anyone’s gaze and see the laughter there, the reproach, or something worse: disappointment in his mother’s eyes.

“Hmph,” the king said, and suddenly Percival knew where he’d learnt that sound. “Well there had better be no more interruptions. We’re here on important business. Dragon squires--dragon riders--may I have your attention.”

It wasn’t a question. As one the riders straightened every muscle in their body, becoming the tallest, most respectable versions of themselves. “Yes Your Majesty,” they called like children in a classroom, and it made Percival feel smaller than ever. As one the royal procession came to a halt in front of them, the regal king, the generous queen, and the perfect prince. They were so close, but felt so very far away.

“Oh, little Lancelot! How good to see you,” a kindly old voice said, ruining the dignity of the moment. Still unhurried, the older woman finally joined the group. She was getting on in years, with most of her hairs grey and the lines on her face that told of years of unrestrained emotions. She had a slight stoop, but there was still strength in her limbs and a sharpness in her eyes that hinted at many healthy years ahead of her yet. “Vane dear, you can play with your friend later. Come over here so the king can make his announcement.” And as she held out a hand the boy immediately sprang to her side, suddenly as sweet and obedient as an angel.

“Yes grandma!”

Percival didn’t hate many people, but he was really starting to resent that kid. Oh the things he’d do to never have to see him again.

“Ahem,” the king said, drawing attention back to himself and his announcement. “Well then, I’d like to introduce you all to the new dragon squire who’ll be joining you today. Young man, please step forward.”

And as Vane stepped forward, Percival wished once again that he could turn back time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missed last fortnight's chapter because I was busy with the Valentine's exchange, but I hope this chapter finds everyone in good health. We're approaching the end of part one I believe, only one or two more chapter to go before the story reaches its second stage! I hope you're as excited as I am. :D


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